Hello everybody! Here we go! Thanks again to all of you who keep reading and especially thanks to Em to dedicate her precious time to revise my ramblings!

-4-

The following morning I got up around eight. Sam was still dead to the world, and he didn't even stir when I rummaged through the room. I decided to let him be for a while and take a shower. To say I had barely slept would be a huge understatement, and I felt sore and more than a bit unsteady on my feet. A shower would help clear my head and soothe my muscles. With a bit of luck, Sam would be able to sleep for a few more hours, which would give me time to think of a plan.

I was right about the shower, it was a blessing. I groaned at the invigorating massage of the hot water over my back and shoulders. That, combined with the cool touch of the wall tiles against my forehead, succeeded in completing the hard task of rousing me and easing the stiffness in my limbs. Too bad that I had to keep my bandaged hand dry. If Sam had seen me showering in such a weird fashion he wouldn't have let me live it down. The thought of my brother teasing me made me smile, but the smile died only seconds after it appeared. I wondered when I'd actually see Sam smile again.

I exited the shower and got dressed, wincing and grunting every time I instinctively tried to use my hand. All the while, I tried to pay attention to any noises coming from the room that would mean Sam was already awake. I didn't hear anything at first, and I started to relax.

Then it became obvious that whatever deity was in charge of distributing luck into the world never even invited the Winchesters to join the line.

I bolted to the door as soon as I heard my brother's sounds of distress, and I was back in the room before I could even blink. I didn't know what to expect, but as sure as hell it wasn't what I found. Sam was up, pacing the room like a caged lion, eyes darting frantically around him but focusing nowhere. I glanced at the bed he had been sleeping in and saw my jacket on it over the tossed covers.

What the hell…?

It had been years since the last time Sam had been woken up by bad dreams. And anyway, Sam didn't seem like he was wrestling his way out of the cobwebs of a nightmare. He appeared fully awake and profoundly upset.

"Sam?" I called him tentatively, having no clue about what was getting him so worked up.

"It's everywhere, Dean. It's everywhere," he mumbled with trepidation, grabbing his clothes nervously, fisting his hair, all the time pacing as if looking for a way out of the small room.

"Whoa, dude, slow down," I said calmly, trying to approach him.

He jerked away from me, his breath hitching, and my own catching painfully in my throat. I swallowed my alarm and raised my palms to appear less menacing.

"Sam, what is it?"

"It's everywhere! It's fucking everywhere! I can't get it off me!" he panted, sounding panicky and looking frenetic.

In short, on the verge of hysterics.

"What's everywhere?" I asked, tossing a look around, scanning the room for anything off, desperately looking for whatever it was that had set my brother so on edge. When he didn't answer my heart rate took off to the sky."

"Sammy? Sam!" I fought for his attention, not quite daring to touch him. "What.Is.Everywhere?"

"Can't you smell it?" Sam snapped, close to hyperventilating now.

I couldn't. I had no idea of what he was talking about, but one thing was for sure: if he didn't calm down he was going to pass out in a matter of seconds.

With my hands up, I circled him cautiously until I had him cornered between the beds. He glared at me with blood-shot eyes, the same reaction I would expect from a jumpy, wounded beast threatened by a predator. I had to swallow bile when I realized that I was basically hunting my little brother, using movements learned from hunting my own kind of prey.

"Smell what?"

"The smoke! The smoke! It's everywhere!" he cried, clasping his head.

I shook my head almost imperceptibly, absolutely puzzled. My mouth opened, and then closed, because I just couldn't bring myself to say anything.

And suddenly, it hit me.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit!

I should have seen it coming. Or at least, I should have been quicker to understand what he was talking about. I knew from experience that a couple of hours in a stuffy bar were enough to adhere the acrid smell of smoke to a person like a barnacle. Last night, we were too out of it to notice, but now the smell of smoke was obvious. Sam had slept in the same clothes that he had been wearing the previous night. And I'd be damned if that long hair of his was helping at all. He couldn't run from the smell, he could only breathe it in. And he was freaking out. Absolutely, downright freaking the hell out.

"Sam, you need to calm down."

Wow, I was impressed. Listening to myself, I could almost believe I was staying calm.

"Sam, c'mon sit down."

"No! You don't…I can't…"

He slapped my hands away when I reached out for him, but I was quick and grabbed his wrists to still him. There was a time when I was able to grab both his wrists with only one hand and use the other to squeeze his shoulder. But back then, in that time it would have been enough to look at him in the eye and whisper some silly reassurance about how everything would be okay, and he would believe me.

Right now, he was jerking, trying to get away from my grasp, and his breathing was nothing but a succession of short, shallow gasps. I set my jaw, tightened my grip and brusquely shoved him against the bed to make him sit down. Then without letting go, I crouched in front of him. I was squeezing him so hard that it had to be painful, but he seemed completely oblivious of me. Instead, he was struggling to get up, struggling to get some air into his lungs, struggling to keep the smell out…just struggling. And failing.

"Sam," I hissed, teeth-clenched, trying to get to him. I could feel his pulse racing against my thumbs. I needed to reach him now. "Look.At.Me."

"Dean, no…" he said, chokingly. His eyes were shiny with unshed tears, but I knew he wasn't really crying. His tears came from the effort to get oxygen. "Please, we have to get out, the smoke is…"

"There's no smoke, man," I stated as evenly as I could.

"But I can smell it! Don't you…"

"Sammy, hey, listen to me." I loosened his wrists for a second and then squeezed them tighter again, to get his attention. "There's no smoke, okay? Trust me on this."

Sam's eyes flickered over mine, and I blinked back the emotion that his simple look caused to rise up in me. He wanted to believe me. He trusted me, but he could feel the smoke around him too clearly. He didn't really understand what was going on at all.

"Sam, it's only the smell. It's gotten in the room, you understand? It's on your clothes, okay?" I assured him firmly. And then, just to make sure he was getting the point straight, I repeated. "But there's no smoke. There's no fire."

A look of confusion washed over him. He started to pull away, and this time I reluctantly released his wrists. Immediately, he brought his shaky hands to his head and combed back his hair with his fingers; the harsh movement pulled the too long curls away from his face. Already missing the contact with him, I sat back on my own bed and watched closely as he bent forward to rest his elbows on his knees and pant heavily. His cheeks were flushed, and he still looked like he was suffocating.

"You with me there?" I rasped. He nodded weakly. "Man, you need to breathe now."

He glared at me with a mixture of aggravation and…shame maybe. Probably frustration too. He was choking, unconsciously blocking the offending smoky air, and I had nothing but platitudes. I bent forward so that ours knees were almost touching. I narrowed my eyes and lowered my voice. I turned the whole room into a small bubble that contained only us. Outside was the world.

"Breathe through your mouth, Sam," I ordered.

It was the only thing I could come up with, but it made sense, didn't it? After all, he needed to get air while blocking the smell of it. Sam seemed to agree with me. He bit his lower lip, and his Adam's apple wobbled as he braced himself to comply. His lips parted tentatively, and he gulped in a whistling puff of air.

"There you go." I coached him through it. "Now let it go. Easy."

He breathed out slowly as a tear rolled down his cheek. He didn't bother to wipe it away, but he did look down in an attempt to escape my scrutiny. I folded my hands over my knees and twisted them, resisting the urge to wipe that tear away. Then I looked down too, allowing him as much privacy as I could without bursting the safe bubble where I had managed to get him breathing. He took another shaky mouthful of air, and then another. Some of his inhalations threatened to turn into heaving sobs, but he kept them in check, and I wasn't sure whether I should be proud or saddened by his success.

After a while his breath evened out considerably, and I dared look up at him. He was very pale and sweaty again. But although Sam kept his eyes closed and he was clearly light-headed as an aftereffect of the oxygen deprivation, he was holding his own.

"Go take a shower, Sam," I whispered.

He swallowed and gave a curt nod. Avoiding my eyes, he stood up and swayed for a moment. My muscles tensed, but Sam steadied himself, headed to the bathroom and closed the door behind him. When I heard water running I finally let out the breath I had been holding. All things considered, I thought I had handled it all pretty well. As a matter of fact I was quite surprised by how calmly I had kept the situation under control.

But my feelings of accomplishment quickly evaporated when I tried to stand up, and I couldn't move. Swallowing, I ran my hands through my hair and felt them shaking against my scalp. I groaned. My heart was racing, my head was buzzing, and I could only bury my face in my hands and force myself to breathe into them. Hell, I had just seen my little brother overcome by a panic attack, and damn me for not anticipating it, for not getting to him earlier, for not being there when he woke up…

"Fuck," I swore under my breath. "Fuck," I repeated, my voice thinner, my throat tighter.

I let a sudden wave of rage take me over, because rage felt better than fear. It gave me the energy to stand up and filled the void in the pit of my stomach with fire while it warmed the chilly stiffness of my frozen limbs.

And then, I took my anger out on the room in a controlled flurry of activity. I stripped both my bed and Sam's and discarded the sheets in a bundle. I opened all the windows and drew back the curtains then inhaled the cool, clean morning breeze as it entered the room.

The room's temperature dropped, but I wanted it well ventilated. I wasn't allowing myself anymore slip-ups today, and I'd be damned if there was even a hint of smoke smell left when Sam got out of the bathroom. I left my jacket next to the window and buried the previous night's clothes in the deepest corner of my duffle, where I planned to keep them until I got the chance to take them to the laundry. Then I chose some stuff for Sam, because he'd have to…need to...change his clothes. Finally, already worn out even though it was only around nine in the morning, I sat back down on my bed.

Sam exited the bathroom a few minutes later with his hair dripping and a towel wrapped around his waist. I looked up in time to catch him shiver in the cold room, and I mentally slapped myself. But he didn't complain about the open windows, just glanced at them. When he noticed the bundles of linens in the corner, his eyes flickered over mine. I knew that he knew what I had done, and I could tell he was feeling suddenly self-conscious about his previous episode. He swallowed again, struggling for something to say, and I wasn't sure whether it was going to be "Thank you," or "I'm sorry," but I knew there was no need for him to say either.

"There," I nodded my head to point out the pile of clothes I had left on his bed. "But I don't know if they're gonna fit you, man. You're freakishly tall."

He eyed the clothes, and the ghost of a smirk flashed over his lips. Brief as it was though, that smile went a long way to lifting the weight off my chest.

"We'll have to go get you something to wear today, anyway," I commented, as I proceeded to close the windows and Sam got dressed.

"We have to go back to the apartment," he stated flatly.

"Yeah." I sighed inwardly. "I know."

I turned around to find him fully dressed. In any other situation, I would have laughed at the strange sight of my clothes on him. Not that they didn't fit him; the shirt suited him just fine, and the jeans had been too long for me since I bought them. It was more that he looked funny in my style of clothing. And yet, despite the weird figure Sam presented, at that moment I couldn't manage even a little smile. It wasn't the time, and neither of us was in the mood.

"I tried to reach Dad," I said carefully, although I really meant it to sound reassuring and casual. What I really wanted to say was 'I've tried to call in the cavalry' or 'I know that you need him more than you need me right now, and it's okay. I understand.' I'm not sure if Sam caught my true meaning, but when he looked at me intently, I felt myself squirming under the force of his gaze. I cleared my throat and gave a light shrug. "Still nothing, but I'll keep trying."

"Yeah," he muttered in the same lifeless tone.

He bent to tie his shoelaces and suddenly froze.

"Fuck," he blurted out.

"What is it?"

"Fuck, Dean…how could I forget?"

"Forget what?"

"To call them…Jess' parents."

"Oh."

Well, I could think of a couple of reasons why calling anybody had been about the last thing on my brother's mind the previous night. I wasn't going to let him beat himself up over that now.

"You don't have to do it, Sam. I'm sure that the police would have called them already," I said, feeling a little uncomfortable.

"Yeah, but I should have done it," he said, shaking his head and reaching into his pocket.

Only it was my pocket he was reaching into and, of course, his cell was nowhere to be found. Frustrated, he clenched his fist over the fabric and swore under his breath.

It looked like we'd be buying a new cell phone too.

"Use mine," I offered.

He hated this, having to depend on others so much. But he accepted my cell anyway, although he wouldn't look at me when he took it out of my hand. We were both on edge, and I knew the moment I said the wrong thing or he took my concern the wrong way, he'd snap at me and then things would be that much harder to fix.

He stared at the telephone in his hand and hesitated. It was my cue to give him some privacy.

"Listen, I'm gonna go grab some breakfast. You get ready. I'll meet you in the car."

I didn't wait to see him nod. I pretended not to notice the way he caught his breath until I was out the door. But I did hear the beginning of his conversation while I was walking away.

"Mrs. Moore? It's Sam…I'm so sorry…"

I cringed at his voice, because it was the voice of a hunter, the voice he used to talk to victims during jobs. Definitely not how my Sammy should sound right then. The cold facade he was using to deal with all this pain was disconcerting. But then I remembered the touch of panic he'd experienced right after waking up, and suddenly the air was thickening around me.

I realized I couldn't anticipate Sam's reactions anymore, and that thought was as unsettling as pacing dangerous ground was. Sam had always been different from our father and me. Dad and I weren't very good at showing emotions in daily life. Only when we were hunting would either of us allow any show of emotion, and then we lashed out. It was our release. We hunted with responsibility, but also with passion. Sammy was usually the other way around; he wore his emotions on his sleeve every day, hiding them only out of pride or a wish to fit in with us. But, hunting was just a job for him, and he was able to keep a level head during gigs.

Now the frontiers between his two sides were fading. The hunt had become personal, and he was trying hard to act professionally, to detach himself from the job so that he could be more efficient. Because it would hurt less. But he couldn't keep his guard up 24/7, and as a result he was riding up and down a rollercoaster of emotion neither of us knew how to deal with.

The realization came to me like a punch to my gut. Even though protecting him had always been my top priority, I had always been able to count on him to do the most sensible thing when the time came for it. I would never admit it to him, but his sensible nature was part of what made us a good team. Now I realized that my brother was compromised, that I couldn't trust his decisions anymore. And it was the scariest thing that had ever happened to me.

I came back to the motel fifteen minutes later, with a couple of cups of coffee and some donuts. Sam was already waiting by the car and he suspiciously eyed the bags I was carrying, readying himself to refuse his breakfast.

"Drink it while it's hot," I ordered, anticipating his protests. "It'll do you good."

Sam glared at me half-heartedly and reached out for his cup. For the time being it was good enough; I'd push some donuts into him later. Then he handed back my cell-phone. I watched him carefully, but his expression wasn't giving anything away.

"How'd it go?" I asked, even though I wasn't entirely sure that I wanted to know.

Sam shrugged and grabbed the handle of the car door.

"Let's go," he said.

I stared at him for a couple of seconds before going around the Impala and slipping into my seat. Then for a terrible moment I realized that during my mission to wipe out all traces of smoke stench from the motel room, I had completely forgotten about the car. What if the leather smelled like smoke too? What if Sam noticed and freaked out?

But Sam remained still by my side, leaning against the window, eyes already set ahead and with a determined frown on his face. The only thing I could do was start the car.

"Here."

My jacket landed on my lap, and I spared Sam a glance. I hadn't even noticed that he was carrying it. Actually, I had absolutely forgotten about it from the moment I had left it next to the window in the room.

"Thanks," he whispered.

I nodded and we took off.

oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo

Too short? Too long? I have a question for you: Would you prefer longer chapters or this length is alright? Any other comment you may have, you know where to find me!

xx